The Detective and His Blogger - The Blogger and His Detective
by mrsmuppet
Summary: Oneshot collection of Johnlock drabbles. Prompts are gladly appreciated! Rated T for language and innuendos, but no smut.
1. Chapter 1

**Something about Sherlock**

If you'd asked John Watson, he would've told you that he was straight. He would've told you that he'd always been straight. That is, until he met Sherlock Holmes.

John Watson never gave much thought about what his feelings for the detective meant for his sexuality. To John, it didn't necessarily matter that Sherlock was a man, and that John was (supposedly) straight. It didn't matter to John if he was gay, straight, or bisexual. It wasn't about labels and boxes. It was about Sherlock. There was an endless list of John's favorite things about his detective that he could probably recite to you right now. Call him crazy, but it was the little things about Sherlock that John fell in love with.

There was something about Sherlock's tresses in the morning, his inky curls every which way in a manner that was purely Sherlock.

There was something about the way Sherlock looked over John's shoulder as he was doing his writing, analyzing sentence he ever wrote, making sure that his blogger only ever spoke nice of him.

There was something about the lazy fingers that trailed John's spine every morning as they woke up, basking in the pure bliss that only came with waking up next to your soul mate.

There was something about that damned coat that followed Sherlock everywhere, stuffed with that blue scarf that John loved so much. And there was something about the way that scarf smelled. Like secret cigarettes and tea and cologne and sometimes even like John.

There was an ever calming aura about the world's only consulting detective that fallowed him all around their little flat, a soothing atmosphere that John could only ever associate with home.

There was something endearing about Sherlock's instinct to protect and comfort his blogger every second, even when all was well.

There was something about Sherlock's colorless (and yet colorful somehow) eyes that widened every time he made a groundbreaking discovery, that narrowed every time he made a deduction, that lit up whenever John said something funny.

There was something adorable about the effort and love that the detective put into the breakfast he made John when the blogger wasn't feeling the best he could.

There was something graceful about Sherlock's stride; how he always kept his eyes off the ground and still manage to keep upright, how he crossed a room in two easy, lanky steps.

There was something about the way Sherlock sheepishly made John tea and homemade biscuits whenever they've had a nasty and admittedly foolish row.

There was something breathtaking about the passion that was in every kiss that Sherlock stole from his blogger; something knee-buckling about the detective's ability to sweep John off of his feet at the drop of a deerstalker.

There was something about the way Sherlock dauntlessly and unconditionally loved John, the good kind of passionate love you felt like you didn't even deserve.

Ask John Watson now, and he'll tell you: he's not gay, there's just something about Sherlock.


	2. Whoops!

It was any other Friday night. The blogger and his detective had just finished a case and were now cuddled up on their bed, discussing it.

"That was just..." John struggled to find the right word for the case of the killer identical twins. He made a note to title that blog post Murder Two. 

"Weird," Sherlock finished his boyfriend's sentence. "It was. It was just weird. But it was also brilliant. Extremely clever," he mused. John chuckled.

"Sound like anyone we know?" he teased.

"What, me? Brilliant, yes. Clever, of course. Weird? Absolutely not."

John propped himself up on his elbow so he could look his detective in the eye. "Sherlock, there's a jar of eyeballs in our microwave."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "That is an experiment," he said, defending himself.

"Yeah, but you know what _kind _of experiment?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "A _weird one._"

"Fine then. I suppose my experiments may be a little unusual. But," Sherlock smirked. "If I'm weird and you're mine, doesn't that make you weird by association?" The blogger nodded seriously.

"Yes, yes it does. But I'm okay with that, I accept it." Sherlock grinned. "Say, when's the last time you had more than an hour of sleep?" John knew that his detective had barely slept since the case started, which wasn't a healthy amount of days ago.

"About," Sherlock paused. "Last week?" Sherlock shrugged. John's eyes widened at this. His detective's health was always a priority right after a case. Especially after one as draining as this one had been.

"Sherlock," John scolded his partner, who was now looking back at him sheepishly. The sincerely apologetic look on his face was enough to make John dismiss the reprimanding he was about to give him. "That's it," he sighed. "It's decided; both of us are going to sleep right now," John resolved, adopting the authoritative tone he always had to use when telling his detective what to do. Sherlock whined in protest, but his blogger simply gave him a look before reaching over to turn off the lamp on the nightstand.

"Come here." Sherlock opened his arms wide, inviting his partner to cuddle with him again, and how could the blogger resist? He happily obliged, turning onto his other side so that his back was against his detective's chest, the way they usually fell asleep. Sherlock tightened his grip around his boyfriend's compact body and subtly breathed in the aroma that could only ever be labeled as John. Ever since the two became more that just partners in crime-solving, their scents had started to merge. But there were still some notes that were still the distinctive scent of John's favorite tea, or the smell of Sherlock's secret cigarettes. Sherlock knew John's scent anywhere, and if he was being completely honest, it was just enough to give Sherlock a—

"Ahem," John interrupted Sherlock's thoughts, clearly amused. It was then, and only then, that the world's only consulting detective noticed that he was (to put it lightly) standing at attention.

"Shit."

"I am amused," John teased. Sherlock, however, wasn't exactly finding much humor in this. His usual pallor was turning a very saturated shade of red.

"S'not funny," he grumbled. But he imply pulled his blogger ever closer and choose to ignore his current… problem. "Goodnight, John."

John twisted around to kiss his detective full on the lips. "Goodnight, boner."

"It's not funny, John!"


	3. Trying Something New

Sherlock had taken up piano.

It was all John's fault, really. In order to help Sherlock kick his disgusting smoking habit, the blogger suggested that Sherlock pick up a new hobby, one he could do in between cases. Naturally, Sherlock chose to teach himself piano. John was wary of this at first, because he thought it would mean endless hours of careless plinking on the instrument. In retrospect, he should have expected his detective to be a fast learner. By the second day of obtaining and installing a baby grand in the sitting room, the world's only consulting detective was playing advanced pieces from classical to contemporary.

It was sexy as hell.

The detective floated his pale hands over the keys as if he were made of water, flowing and graceful. He adopted a peaceful aura when he was playing. He became a whole different person, and it was quite beautiful to watch.

Often, John would be dragged from his blogging, his detective insisting, "John, look what I can do," like a child. Sherlock would then play an intricate piece, and John would just gape at him, open-mouthed. The detective would stand and bow and the blogger would clap and hoot enthusiastically. It was quite enjoyable for the both of them, _and, _Sherlock had stopped smoking.

So naturally, when John walked up the front steps of their shared flat and heard his detective playing an upbeat melody, he couldn't help but smile. He was taking the stairs two at a time when he noticed that this song was not one he knew. He took the stairs much slower then. It was almost as if… no. Sherlock couldn't have _written _this.

Listening more attentively, the blogger noticed that the piece was quite complicated, more advanced than he's ever heard Sherlock play. It had a distinctive right-hand part and a separate-left hand part that played around each other, in a sort of conversational manner but yet still in harmony. That's when John's throat thickened and his eyes got hot. Because not only had his detective written this piece, but he wrote it about _them. _It was uncharacteristically sentimental of him.

John couldn't take silently eavesdropping anymore and burst into the sitting room. Sherlock stopped playing abruptly upon hearing his partner enter the room, much to John's dismay.

"No, keep playing," John insisted. Sherlock just shook his head sheepishly. "Did you write that?" Sherlock nodded. "About us?" Sherlock nodded again. "It's beautiful," John said, wiping his eye.

"You're beautiful," Sherlock said, crossing the room to kiss his partner. John's mouth parts habitually and Sherlock deepens the kiss. Before long, they are both lightheaded and reluctantly let go. John's eyes were still leaking, so he leaned his head on his detective's chest. All he could think to say was, "Thank you."


End file.
